


Anything worth its value is worth fighting for

by recrudescence



Category: Inception
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are reasons Eames habitually hides the remote. When it comes to television, Arthur’s standards are practically sub-basement.</p><p>Inspired by a prompt from the kink meme that wanted Arthur getting stoned and trying to explain his favorite cartoons (particularly Courage the Cowardly Dog) to a less-than-captivated Eames. <b>Contains sex, drugs, and postcolonialism.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything worth its value is worth fighting for

“So Johnny Bravo is basically the stereotypical douche, but Courage the Cowardly Dog actually has _substance_. He was abandoned as a puppy and rescued by Muriel and Eustache, who live in the middle of nowhere.”

Arthur’s watching him like he’s expecting a certain response, but Eames is at a loss as to what that is. “Sounds boring as hell,” he says, stringing kisses up the curve of Arthur’s hipbone.

“Nowhere,” Arthur continues, giving him a scornful look, “is a little town in Kansas where really creepy shit happens.” He pauses, obviously waiting for Eames to clutch his pearls and eagerly press for details on said creepy shit.

Eames helpfully noses Arthur’s shirt a little higher up his torso and flicks his tongue against a nipple.

“These are not your typical slapstick Saturday-morning cartoon hijinks,” says Arthur, and even without looking up, Eames can tell he’s got the same expression on his face he wears when he’s going in for the hard sell inside some poor bugger’s subconscious. “Legitimately _creepy_. Basically, this show is perfect to watch when you’re getting baked in high school.”

There are reasons Eames habitually hides the remote. When it comes to television, Arthur’s standards are practically sub-basement. It doesn’t take much to catch his interest, which is something Eames can understand, sort of. After being away from home, getting to collapse in front of the telly with something reliably shonky is one of the most refreshing feelings in the world. And Arthur is deliciously ordinary when he’s between jobs, albeit sometimes given to noble pursuits like wearing sweatpants and smoking spliffs and reliving the 90s. Occasionally all three at once, though Eames is currently doing his damnedest to conquer the sweatpants.

“I can’t think of what else you’d do in Idaho to pass the time. It must have been very hard having to channel your genius into things like carving bongs out of potatoes.” As far as Eames knows, Idaho has produced exactly two products of note, one being potatoes and the other being Arthur. It amuses him greatly, since he never would have guessed it on his own. Arthur, on the other hand, probably still rues the night he snuggled up to Eames after some amazing wine and even more amazing sex and decided it was safe to let that information slip.

Which it was. In point of fact, it was such a demonstration of trust that Eames had spent the next two hours showing Arthur his appreciation in all manner of ways. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less merciless with his teasing.

“The villains are always scary as fuck, especially since it’s a kids’ show. Like, barbers still make me nervous and I can’t eat flan to this day. Oh, and mummies. I can’t really handle mummies either.”

Arthur’s still talking and Eames can’t make head or tail of how this is relevant, but he opens up for a shotgun when Arthur takes the blunt from between his lips and leans in to press his mouth over Eames’s, squirming against him and exhaling smoke. For a little while, he’s content to let Eames kiss him and stroke over him once he works his shirt up and off, but then he starts in on some character called Dr. Vindaloo who apparently always gets the best sitar music and Eames gives up on ignoring him.

“Isn’t that a bit racist?” By now, the sweatpants are snarled around Arthur’s knees and Eames is a tad miffed that Arthur’s still trying to sell him on this Courage programme.

Arthur groans, licks his neck, discarding the joint in order to wrap an arm around Eames’s middle. “Don’t be stupid, Eames. The show uses sitars for everything anyway. It has a great soundtrack.”

“If you ever walked up to Yusuf and called him Dr. Vindaloo, he’d kick you in the teeth. Or if, say, your subconscious happened to start playing sitar music whenever he showed up. You’d get laxatives in your coffee for sure, or worse.”

“Okay, having your own soundtrack is vastly overrated,” Arthur concedes, pensively letting his head loll back against the couch arm. “That’s a documented fact. Family Guy had a whole subplot about it. But you don’t have to be such a killjoy.”

“There’s no joy in racial prejudice,” Eames says neatly, giving a dainty lick to the crease of Arthur’s thigh.

Satisfyingly, Arthur’s hips strain towards his mouth when he withdraws. Less satisfyingly, Arthur scowls at him. “Right, because you’re an authority on it from having to come up with a Desi forgery, like, two times. That doesn’t make you an expert in anyone’s eyes. Unless you count Tyra Banks.”

Eames shrugs and lowers his head again, glancing the tip of his tongue over the length of Arthur’s cock. “I don’t see the point of this show anyway,” he admits, deliberately drawing out his pause until Arthur’s body is arching impatiently off the cushions. “But I do think someday I’m going to handcuff you to the bed and read you Edward Said. Maybe some Frantz Fanon.”

“Your people colonized the fuck out of my people, so don’t even.”

“Spare me. My _people_ didn’t want anything to do with fucking Idaho, so don’t _you_ even.”

Arthur sits up, leaning in until they’re nose to nose. “You think I can’t get out of handcuffs?”

Eames smiles and pecks him on the lips. “You think I can’t modify handcuffs so you can’t?”

“Do something with your mouth that isn’t talking.”

“Oh.” Eames slips a hand through the messy almost-curls of Arthur’s hair and breathes the word between his lips like a second shotgun. “ _Gladly_.”

This time, when Eames slants his mouth against Arthur’s, Arthur lets him. It’s an ungainly jumble of limbs when they come together. Discarded clothes end up spilling off the couch, Eames ends up sucking Arthur’s cock into his mouth at such an awkward angle he gets a crick in his neck, and Arthur ends up nearly laughing himself sick when he returns the favor and they practically tumble onto the floor a time or two.

But what matters, in the end, is that Arthur is sweat-sheened and pleased under him and that Eames’s head fits against the curve of his shoulder too perfectly for him to mention maybe taking themselves into the bedroom. It’s cramped and sticky on the couch, with no room to spread out and really get comfortable. With Arthur’s lithe, nimble hands sketching patterns down his back, Eames couldn’t care less.

“You know my favorite episode?” Arthur’s voice is a touch lower than usual, satiated. “It’s the one where Courage grows a tree that gives anyone whatever they wish for. Courage and Muriel love it because the tree takes care of them, but Eustache cuts it down. He says taking care of them is his job, even though he’s really bad at it. Then at the end of the episode, the tree’s growing back.”

Eames sighs and gives his arse a halfhearted pinch. “Love, give it a rest with this fucking show.”

But Arthur is closing his eyes, guiding Eames’s head up to bring their mouths together again, tongue questing for entrance in a lazy roll of pleasure. He twists to hitch a leg over Eames’s hip and press them even more tightly together in spite of the heat.

“I just want you to know I won’t let anyone cut you down,” Arthur promises softly.

And there, sweaty and sluggish and entangled on Arthur’s uncomfortable sofa, Eames falls in love all over again.


End file.
